ggedness that
filled Costanza with shame on her behalf, for such conduct was the last
one expected from the noble English, she went through item after item,
requiring and persisting till she got them, explanations.

There were no explanations, except that Costanza had had one
glorious week of doing exactly as she chose, of splendid unbridled
licence, and that this was the result.

Costanza, having no explanations, wept. It was miserable to
think she would have to cook from now on under watchfulness, under
suspicion; and what would her relations say when they found the orders
they received were whittled down? They would say she had no influence;
they would despise her.

Costanza wept, but Mrs. Fisher was unmoved. In slow and splendid
Italian, with the roll of the cantos of the Inferno, she informed her
that she would pay no bills till the following week, and that meanwhile
the food was to be precisely as good as ever, and at a quarter the
cost.

Costanza threw up her hands.

Next week, proceeded Mrs. Fisher unmoved, if she found this had
been so she would pay the whole. Otherwise--she paused; for what she
would do otherwise she did not know herself. But she paused and looked
impenetrable, majestic and menacing, and Costanza was cowed.

Then Mrs. Fisher, having dismissed her with a gesture, went in
search of Lady Caroline to complain. She had been under the impression
that Lady Caroline ordered the meals and therefore was responsible for
the prices, but now it appeared that the cook had been left to do
exactly as she pleased ever since they got there, which of course was
simply disgraceful.

Scrap was not in her bedroom, but the room, on Mrs. Fisher's
opening the door, for she suspected her of being in it and only
pretending not to hear the knock, was still flowerlike from her
presence.

"Scent," sniffed Mrs. Fisher, shutting it again; and she wished
Carlyle could have had five minutes' straight talk with this young
woman. And yet--perhaps even he--

She went downstairs to go into the garden in search of her, and
in the hall encountered Mr. Wilkins. He had his hat on, and was
lighting a cigar.

Indulgent as Mrs. Fisher felt towards Mr. Wilkins, and peculiarly
and even mystically related after the previous morning's encounter, she
yet could not like a cigar in the house. Out of doors she endured it,
but it was not necessary, when out of doors was such a big place, to
indulge the habit indoors. Even